Who I Am
by ladyvader169
Summary: Upon his mother's death, little jack embarked on a path that would make him one of the most dangerous men Gotham City had ever seen. Now The Joker, a single photograph brings back memories a night he tried to forget. ONE-SHOT


The winds were howling and the thunder was rumbling. The streets below were flooded with rivers of water and climbing in the window of the old tobacco factory's office had taken more energy than he thought. He had just eluded the cops once again and only now was it beginning to take its toll on him. He was a lot of things, but he was still only human.

He was exhausted and he was drenched. His green dyed hair was plastered to his hair and his makeup was smeared and running in down his face. With his last remainder of strength he finally managed to haul himself through the top window before falling flat on his back, his energy gone completely. Concentrating on his breathing he slowly turned his head to the weather outside. He had wandered for two hours trying to find a new hiding place that would shelter him from the worst of the weather. He's kept his arms wrapped around himself, keeping close to alleyways as a last resort of protection having nothing else on him. He let his tired eyes close.

There was only other time he had seen weather like this...

_The rain was pelting down over the blackened city, the storm clouds forming as the sound of thunder rumbled above them._

_The distraught woman whimpered as her breath became shallower, as she treaded through the flooded city's deserted streets. _

_Her cheek bones were hollow, sunken into her face, her hair matted to her head from the hours of walking through the soaking streets and alleyways, trying to find safety._

_She continued walking, her breath become more laboured as she clutched a tiny malnourished child to her side in a futile attempt to shelter him from the wrath of the storm, and the child clung to her as his only lifeline, his appearance no different than his mother's; malnourished, thin and weak. Still suffering from the affects of the lifestyle that both he and his mother were forced to live._

"_Keep up with me, sweetie." She urged as softly as she could as he began to fall behind. His little legs were beginning to give out on him. They had been walking for over 2 hours and the ever present threat of their lives still being at risk never left his mother's mind._

_He began to fall behind again, letting out a small whimper as the ache in his thin legs returned._

"_Come on, Jackie." She urged again, looking back at her tired son._

"_I'm tired, mommy." The little one whimpered, rubbing one of his red rimmed eyes._

_Her heart sank at the site of her son like this. Her baby._

"_I know, sweetheart," She soothed, bending down to his level, the movement killing her already aching body. She reached out, her skeletal fingers gently petting his soaked matted hair, it was the only comfort she could give him. She did not have the strength to carry him._

"_We have to keep moving, Jackie." She told him, petting his hair._

"_I'm hungry," the little boy rubbed his rumbling stomach._

"_I am too, Jack." She tried to smile. She knew that this was hard for a young child of his age. He was tired as well as scared, cold, wet and hungry. She had no food to give him, nor did she have a proper home where he could be cared for instead of a life of wandering the streets._

_She also knew that they could not return to their previous home. Her husband, the boy's father was the reason they were out in the streets. She had left and had taken Jack with her. She had no other choice. He was getting too dangerous and she would not risk Jack's safety and she knew that she could not risk her own by ordering him to leave knowing by that stage that it could easily cost her life as well as Jacks, should anything happen to her. She could not let that happen._

_The little one whimpered again, stopping to rub his red rimmed eyes, trying to ease the stinging at the back of his eyes. He sniffled._

_Looking back, his mother saw just how much discomfort her son was in as she felt her heart break. Jack was only a child, not even seven years old yet and here he was with his mother looking for shelter and scraps of food in alleyways._

_She wished so much that she could offer him a better life, even if only for him. She knew he would never have a chance of living a better life in the slums of the Narrows._

_They kept walking through the rain-flooded streets, Jack still struggling to keep up, his mother now staggering as she walked. They needed to stop; to rest but her mind only went back to the ever present threat of Jacks father, the threat of Gotham's criminal activity which thrived at night. To rest would leave them both vulnerable; she could not put her baby in danger._

_Little Jack whimpered again, the burning in his eyes and legs was too much now._

_His mother looked down to her son; he needed to rest._

"_Mommy..." He was beginning to cry now, tears now appearing along his red rimmed eyes as he felt his head begin to throb from exposure._

_Seeing that the little one no longer had the strength to walk, she bent down to pick up her son but winced as soon as she felt her back crack._

_Ignoring the pain and with great effort she lifted him under his arms and cradled him close as the rain began to get even heavier, her breaths becoming shallower, her body becoming thinner from exhaustion and malnutrition._

_Still continuing to hold her son, humbled as he clung to her as his only life line for safety, her tired eyes scoured the streets ahead desperately trying to find a place of shelter for them both. _

_Her eyes found an old alleyway up ahead that just seemed to be sheltered enough for them to rest for the night._

_She dies on his birthday, at dawn the next morning. She slowly opened her eyes as she reaches up her frozen hand to tenderly touch his face as he is looking at her with tears running down his _

"_Happy...birth..day" She can feel her eyes begin to close and breathed out slowly "...my... angel."_

_It was then her eyes closed and never again opened._

22 years had now passed since that night.

He was six years old at the time, he is 28 years old now and not a single day goes by since that night does he not remember her. He could still hear her voice and he would be only fooling himself if he said that it did not bring him comfort. Reaching into his inner pocket he took out an old photograph, one that he was always kept close to his heart. It was something that no one else knew about. Whenever he had caught he had always taken the old photo out of his coat quietly slipped it into his back pocket of his pants. No one had ever noticed.

Looking down at the beat up photograph in his hands, its colour brown with age he stared at her eyes looking back at him. She was standing outside of an old run down house with one window boarded up, an overgrown garden surrounding her, her eyes dull, lifeless and weary while a dark bruise formed on her right cheek. Standing below her with her was a little boy who wore a thin vest ripped at the collar and smeared with stains. He was looking away with his first in his mouth. His eyes too were dulled and lifeless.

Feeling a trail of moisture roll down his painted cheek he closed his eyes. He couldn't look at it anymore. It was the only remnant of his past, of his mother that he had left and to this day it still caused him great pain to look at.

"Night Mom," he whispered in a hushed voice before pressing the beaten photo briefly to his lips. He closed his eyes and in that moment he and his mom where together again.

However the tender moment with his mother was suddenly disturbed by the blinding spotlight of a police helicopter. Instinctively he ducked his head down so the spotlight would glide over him. He had only just given the cops the slip a few days ago and he had no intention of being caught again. Hearing the chopper disappear into the distance he crept as quietly as he could over to the old window to ensure that it was properly boarded.

Tucking the old photograph back into the inner pocket of his coat he just sat. So this was it then. _This_ was the life that he had made for himself. _This_ was who he was now. Wouldn't his mother be proud of him _now_? Wouldn't she be proud of her baby boy who now worked as a hit-man for hire? He made his extra money by ripping off mob dealers, not to mention endangering his life in the process.

He snorted.

He had barley remembered what had happened after that night. He had ran away after that night.

He survived. He did what he had to in order to survive because the streets of Gotham where not a nice place for a 6 year old child with no mother. He had stolen food, he had eaten out of dumpsters, he had slept in them and over time he had learned to pickpocket. It was only when he was coming 10 years old did he meet a man who had said that he was his friend. That he would help him. His name was Carmine Falcone. He had taken him in; he had trained him how to use a gun, how to use a knife and how to suppress all emotion in order to get the job done.

The only thing that he remembers after that period in his life was finally leaving and never coming back. He had grown, he knew the streets, he knew how to use weapons and his had an intelligence that he did not have when he was a homeless child on the streets. His intelligence would be his greatest weapon and he swore on that day that he would never be vulnerable again.


End file.
